


Handle Your Own

by anomalously



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, I havent written fanfics in a long fucking time, My First Work in This Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalously/pseuds/anomalously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew the situation. Everyone knew they couldn't be around each other for more than five minutes. But also, everyone knew that when it came down to it, not only do you not ever lay a hand on one of Mickey’s girls… but you especially didn’t rough up his fucking wife and mother of his child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handle Your Own

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Till It's Gone by Yelawolf and it just really reminds me of Mickey. This just made sense to me.

One hand curled in a navy blue collar, the other raised, Mickey glared down at the man on the ground. Blood gushed out of his nose, his eyes wide with fear. Mickey’s fist came down hard against the man’s cheek for the third time. A heavy grunt of pain was heard, echoed lightly in the alleyway. 

“The mother of my fuckin child,” Mickey snarled, panting heavily. He alternated between taking his fist to the John’s face and kicking him in the side. 

Mickey and Svetlana would probably never be considered friends. Their marriage wasn’t really a marriage, there was no bond between them and the fact that Mickey was gay and she (probably) was as well wasn’t helping. 

Everyone knew the situation. Everyone knew they couldn't be around each other for more than five minutes. But also, everyone knew that when it came down to it, not only do you not ever lay a hand on one of Mickey’s girls… but you especially didn’t rough up his fucking wife and mother of his child.

This was the first time it happened and Mickey was going to make sure that it never happened again. As he was throwing the John to the ground and fishing the wallet out of his back pocket, Mickey briefly considered not letting Svetlana work anymore. Maybe she should be cleaning houses or just sticking to the surrogate gig.

“Mick, that’s enough, you’re gonna kill him,” a voice called from behind him. It was Kev, bartender and Mickey’s former business partner. He was supposed to be dealing with calming down Svetlana, not supervising this prick’s beat down.

Mickey spat on the ground next to the John’s face, “Fuckin should.”

The John was writhing in pain, clutching his sides. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Ay, I ever see your fat fuckin face in South Side again, I will put a bullet between your eyes, you get that motherfucker?” Mickey grabbed a handful of the man’s hair, yanking his head up so he could look him in his swollen, broken face. “I will put you in the fuckin ground.”

Mickey straightened up, dropped the John’s now empty wallet next to him and followed Kev back inside the bar. He needed a drink —thankfully Kev had anticipated this, passing him a generous serving of whiskey when he took his normal seat at the bar. 

His fist was throbbing, knuckles had split in the process of taking care of his own; the burn trailed all the way up to his shoulder, letting him know exactly how hard he hit that man.

Svetlana was sitting in the seat next to him. She looked uncharacteristically small and scared —he wasn’t used to seeing her like that. It didn’t fit right on her, busted lip, messy hair, eye makeup smeared down her cheeks.

Words weren’t exchanged between the two, they didn’t need them. 

They had brutal, forced beginnings and more than a rocky start. Ian brought them together, formed a bridge that netted the weird family dynamic they had now. Mickey could say a lot of shit things about Svetlana —and she could say just as cruel things about him too, but when it came down to it, she was the mother of his child, part of the Milkovich family. And that counted for something.

Mickey motioned to Kev to pour Svetlana something to drink as he lit a cigarette.

“Go home and clean up,” Mickey said to her, brushing the edge of his brow with his thumb. “Get some sleep.”

“Cannot leave. We need money for baby,” she shook her head, knocking back the shot of vodka that Kev had poured her. Despite Yev not technically being a baby anymore, she still referred to him as one. Probably would for the rest of the kid’s life.

“Not that bad,” Mickey scoffed. 

She sat there for a while, just looking at him. He didn't bother asking her what the fuck she was looking at. He’d been having a rough few weeks with bills piling up and having two girls out of commission. Nights were his only escape lately, spending every spare minute he could with his boyfriend. But Ian had been pulling double shifts, doing his part in helping to keep the Milkovich family afloat. So everyone was exhausted and overworked, and if Mickey were being honest, the John who hit Svetlana had been just the thing he needed to let out a little frustration, but now he just felt numb and shitty.

Mickey jumped a little from the contact of Svetlana’s hand on his shoulder. He looked over at her, brows raised expectantly. 

“You piece of shit husband, piece of shit pimp. But good man,” she said. “Good heart. Yevgeny will have good heart too.”

Mickey let out a breathy laugh, raising his glass a few inches off of the counter. He could drink to that. 

Svetlana leaned over and pressed her lips to his temple. He still wasn't used to it, didn't really want her lips on him, but right then it didn't even matter. She liked to do that sometimes, show affection like they got along, like they could stand each other. Maybe she was trying to make the best out of their situation —something he knew he needed to work on. Normally he’d rock away from her, pull a face, make a shitty comment. But he let her have this one.

“I go home now. I tell orange boy you need rest when you’re home, you look like shit.”

 


End file.
